Well, gosh, since we’re sharing (okay, so it’s just me who’s sharing…there is a comments section and a contact form, you know. Do write. It gives me the warm fuzzies.), today I started the “Greenroom entries 2008” document and put the “Greenroom entries 2007” document to rest. But not before one last read-through, which led to the realization that I was a lazy blogger last year. There were a great many things I planned to share, and perhaps even drafted, but never posted for one reason or another.
But now the issues and any sensitivity surrounding them have passed; so here, for all the world to see, is what I didn’t tell you last year. Keep in mind that Deleted Scenes from movies are usually deleted for a reason. Take that as you will.
What I’ve learned at CTC
Date: February, 2007
1) Don’t compare physical appearance to that of teenagers – they have not been to college, they have not gained the Freshman Fifteen.
2) Rest assured that they will.
3) The costume shop folks are the best. Even when I’m supposed to look awful, it’s a good kind of awful.
4) ten-minute breaks are not enough time to wait in line to microwave food AND eat it.
5) Food microwaved an hour and a half prior is no longer appetizing.
6) I adore the acting company at CTC – so kind, so patient, so funny.
7) watch mouth!
8 ) Jerry’s kid is in The Hold Steady. Jerry is awesome.
9) I’m exhausted when I come home.
Prepping for the Great Unknown
Date: March, 2007
I love to write. Mostly because I take great pleasure in rediscovering old scribblings and their connection to events and memories and feelings I had long since forgotten – the act of writing is a promise of delayed gratification. But sometimes, like the last 19 days, I get so wrapped up in the joy of living that I don’t want to stop and remove myself from the process enough to comment on it. Sometimes the promise of delayed gratitude just needs to go suck on it.
I write now only because I find myself at a strange juncture – one where I still feel the bliss of the last few unscheduled weeks, but where I have also been hit by the need to mentally prepare for Monday and the days thereafter. Monday marks the beginning of a contract position in the Community Relations department at a very, very large corporation (one of many whose headquarters are located here in the Twin Cities).
I’m still honoring the great leap I took last December – I still consider myself an actress first and foremost – this is just a way to keep some cash flowing. It’s temporary and it’s flexible – that’s all that matters.
It’s like the sweet melancholy of the last week of summer vacation. The freedom and ease are still simmering in my bones, but the realization that it must come to an end wins a pause every now and then.
Something to Talk About
Date: July 23, 2007
I’ve been struggling with this feeling that I’m not working (read: acting) enough, which frankly makes no sense because I just wrapped shooting for an instructional video on how to make preserves (a la Stitch & Bitch and You Grow Girl) called The Fresh Girl’s Guide to Canning, got cast as the voice-over narrator for a national Qwest commercial (which doesn’t seem to be happening now due to a script snafu with their legal department – go figure), did a read-through for a show with Starting Gate in the fall, sang a few songs at my best friend’s perfect wedding, filmed video components for The Ministry of Cultural Warfare’s Fringe show, and started rehearsals today for the gig that will take me to Nashville.
I honestly write this blog as much for you as I do for me…a visual reminder that I am working, that I am succeeding at performing as my primary source of income. But I haven’t felt like writing about what I’m doing, so I have no visual reminder. And I think I know why. I had a nasty little revelation recently that what I’m doing really doesn’t matter.
I base my disenchantment, my unessentiality (I worked at the Walker Art Center for five years, it gives me artistic license to make up words when the ones we have just won’t do, so step off) on the recent awesomeness displayed by my older brother. A couple months ago, he joined AirServ, a non-profit NGO (kind of like the Peace Corps for pilots) and left for the Congo in April to fly humanitarian relief missions around the country – then due to some weird administrative error, got transferred to Afghanistan where he would captain a much larger airplane. And I am so immensely proud of him, and so impressed by his writing, and so envious of his earnest involvement in working toward peace, that I realize that while what I do is fun and has its entertainment value, acting and my ramblings about acting really aren’t that important in the grand scheme of things. In the fight against hunger, in the fight to ease the hardships wrought by retarded wars waged by so-called “leaders,” in the fight to help other people in need, what do I do? I act on stage and on camera. BUZZ. WRONG ANSWER. I LOSE.
Yeah, sure, I’m sure there is some value (way, way, deep, deep down) in what I do – it’s just difficult to quantify it.
Date: August 16, 2007
It was early afternoon on Thursday when fellow Mrs. Man of God cast-mates and I arrived in Nashville. As we made our way through the cozy airport toward baggage claim, we passed a live two-piece band playing in a rotunda. Yes, live music in the airport. Really, really good live music in the airport. Thanks, Music City, for a sweet taste of something I would not get a chance to experience while there; you tease.
We walked outside into a special kind of hot. Temperatures ranged in the high-90′s with humidity in the 70th percentile. Weeks before my cousin had joked about a bringing a spacesuit. Turns out she wasn’t kidding.
Our director brought us over to the dorms at Vanderbilt University…he dropped us off while we made our way up to our suite on the 12th floor. We all remarked on the smell of fresh paint and immediately chose rooms (the boys got the best view of the Parthenon while I got a view of a neighboring apartment building; stupid boys). Shortly thereafter the director joined us with an alarmed look on his face, laughingly telling us that we were in the wrong tower. We inadvertently took the wrong set of unmarked elevators. So, we grabbed our things and headed back down and then back up different, also unmarked, elevators to the correct suite in the correct tower. Vanderbilt University Lesson One: No Students = No Signage.
We then re-chose our rooms, and I was able to snag a better view – this time scoring a quarter-peek of The Parthenon (ha-ha; stupid boys). We unloaded our things, settled in a little, then made our way over to the Couva Calypso Café for some food. There were nine of us, and our food arrived with alarming speed. And I know that I am prone to hyperbole, but this time I was really, actually alarmed – it couldn’t have been more than seven minutes from order to arrival – food for nine people. On the other hand, I didn’t get the drink that I ordered, or the amendment to the dish that I ordered (no onions), but I picked through it anyway not wanting to be the special-dish-diva.
We then hit the drugstore for two decks of playing cards – turns out that Dennis plays a mean game of Canasta and doesn’t cave under pressure, no matter how much smack I talk.
That night I settled in to my room, lulled to sleep by memories of my college dorm room, despite the prison/cinder-block décor. There is a sweet nostalgia tied to single beds…I slept well.
I slept soundly until 10 am – then popped out of bed to find our suite deserted. People began to trickle back in (they were in the suite next door having coffee), and Dennis and I made our way over to The Parthenon. 40-foot statue of Athena inside. Dane joined us.
Lunch at some bread place – $12. Yikes.
The Stoles – When we walked into the event space where we’d be performing, I was taken by the stoles neatly hung two-high around the periphery of the room, out the door, spilling into the foyer and down the hall. There must have been at least a thousand of them – each with a short bio of the wearer. I perused several before realizing that these were all stoles of clergy who had been stripped of their credentials because of their sexual orientation. I was deeply moved, more so upon discovering that the stoles displayed were a mere quarter of the stoles they had received from clergy around the country.
Nighttime – performance. Lovely elderly lady next to me asked me why I was miked – so much for the surprise. The cast and director were given our very own rainbow stoles post-performance.
Post-show – Light bulb jokes about lighting technicians and performance artists. Vanderbilt University Lesson Number Two: No Students = No Toilet Paper.
Passing the sign to Memphis and the Grand Ole Opry that we would not see.
Brochure for Dollywood (as in Dolly Parton) that we would not see.
Date: November 6, 2007
I sheepishly asked to see my final Invisalign tray at the orthodontist’s office today, just so I would know what the end result will look like. It’s beautiful! I’m going to have beautiful teeth! There is a wonderful light at the end of this wretchedly painful tunnel! I’ve waited 16 years for this – I’ll finally be able to smile without shame.
I Just Want to Hug Them
Date: November 29, 2007
Denied CTC’s Peter Pan ‘cause there aren’t any bodacious female roles – but it’s okay… what a great audition!
The Ongoing List of Stuff to Write About
*Centex Homes voice-over gig – FUN!
*Microsoft on-screen industrial gig as an extra – BORING! BUT FUN!
*Qwest voice-over gig – script issue in legal department – pulled spot. SUCKAGE!
*MSAB artist grant reviews – the most complimentary let-down ever.
*callbacks at BNW for their corporate team/wanting me to re-start the class-mill. Don’t wanna.
*60-second audition with John Command – huh?
*Audition monologues – start a monologue group?
*missed Monster of Phantom Lake screening due to trip to Jeffers Petroglyphs and a very bad run-in with a stupid Pheasant or Quail or some other large wild bird of that nature which threw itself in front of my fast car and therefore no longer on this mortal coil.